


Happy Birthday, Raylan Givens

by norgbelulah



Series: Set Fire to This House [6]
Category: Justified
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Birthday, Blow Jobs, Cupcakes, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For thornfield-girl, on the occasion of her birthday.</p>
<p>Raylan was turning forty and Boyd was determined he wouldn't be grumpy about it.</p>
<p>Part of the Set Fire to This House 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Raylan Givens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thornfield_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/gifts).



> Love you, darling.

There was a pink cupcake with a candle in it on Raylan’s bedside table when he woke. 

The note Boyd had left next to it read, _Happy Birthday, baby. Don’t light this without me. ~Boyd._

Raylan was forty years old that day and Boyd was determined he wouldn’t be grumpy about it.

He rolled out of bed and tried not to think about creaky joints and being old. He showered slowly and let the water run off the rest of the come from the previous night. 

Boyd had given him a birthday BJ at midnight and they’d been too tired to do anything but run a wet washcloth across their skin. Boyd had class at 8:00 am. If he took the bus, which he always did, he had to leave by 7:10.

Lucky for Raylan, he never had to be at work before nine, cushy government job as it was.

The cupcake caught his eye again as he threw on his jacket. It was just about eight, but he dialed the number anyway. When Boyd answered, with, “Happy Birthday, a _third_ time,” Raylan smiled and said, “You want me to carry this thing around all day?”

“Well, I would have put it in your lunch box for you, champ, if I thought you’d remember to take it with you.” 

Boyd never failed to bring up the lunch box debacle--a misguided attempt for the two of them to save money by packing lunches instead of buying all the time. He’d never actually remembered to grab the plastic coated bag from the fridge before he went to work, inevitably wasting the food they’d bought in order to save money in the first place.

Raylan just huffed at Boyd, instead of gracing his cruel joke with a reply, creating static across the line.

“No, baby,” Boyd said, laughter in his voice. “Just try and have a good day, all right?”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “Never had a good day on my birthday before.” He really wasn't sure why it was so important to Boyd now.

“All the more reason, baby. Oh shit, I gotta go,” Boyd said.

“When will I--” But he’d hung up already. Raylan sent him a text. _When will I see you? You never said._

He grabbed his keys, knowing he probably wouldn’t hear back about it for hours. He smiled ruefully as he passed the cupcake on his way out the door.

 

He had a meeting with a CI in the morning, so it was just after lunch when he finally got to the office. 

There were three more cupcakes on his desk when he walked in and everyone was carefully looking down at their paperwork.

“Shit,” Raylan said loudly. He whirled on Tim, who was having trouble keeping his face straight. “He told you.”

“Told us what?” Rachel asked, deadpan. “Today is Cupcake Day, Raylan. Where’s yours?”

“I forgot it at home,” he retorted in a snide voice and turned back to Tim. “If I had known letting _you_ come to poker was gonna put you in his goddamn pocket, I--”

“Who’s Tim taking bribes from now?” Art asked, coming out of his office. He smiled when he saw the cupcakes and Raylan knew he was in on it.

“Did he tell you how old I was too?” Raylan asked.

Art grinned and replied, “Now, we only had to open up your file to find that out, son.”

Raylan almost said something unkind about the goddamn law, but he figured that wouldn’t be taken well and he’d told Boyd he would try not to be grumpy.

“Come on, Raylan,” Tim says, dry as ever, “Boyd didn’t put up nearly as much of a fuss about his this summer.”

Raylan pointed a finger. “No one put pink cupcakes on his desk and _you_ never should have been invited to that gathering. Had I been able to predict such a betrayal--”

“So much drama,” Art sighed, then clapped his hands together and cried, “Hey everybody, can I have a word?” Every single person in the office turn to look in their direction. “As you may or may not know,” he paused for effect--and Raylan was the one who was dramatic--then continued, “today is Raylan’s birthday.”

Everyone then burst out with a roaring, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAYLAN,” and half the goddamn building flooded out of the locker room, Winona in the lead carrying a huge, double-decker box of pink fucking cupcakes.

She smiled at him in her far-too-pretty-to-stay-mad way and said, “There are forty of them all together.”

Later, over coffee and one of the cupcakes in the conference room, he told her, “You know I wouldn’t be so pissed if I wasn’t absolutely sure he was the one who organized the whole thing.” The pink cupcake at home was the giveaway.

Winona grinned at him indulgently and leaned in, patting his cheek. “You’re not pissed,” she said. “Enjoy it, honey. He loves you.”

After she walked away, he left a message on Boyd’s phone, which went suspiciously unanswered, saying, “Don’t think you’re going to get away with organizing me an office party you yourself don’t have to go to. That’s just mean, darlin’.”

They let him go home a little early, or Art did, with a doubly suspicious twinkle in his eye. Raylan walked out thinking maybe it had been a mistake to let Boyd come up to Lexington to live--as though it had been his choice. It was just that everyone knowing his business all the time made him twitchy.

 

He was greeted by a round on the house when he got to the bar, coming in through the main entrance and not the back with the stairs, like he sometimes did. 

Lindsey handed him a double shot and, as he took it from her, he asked, “You seen Boyd?”

She smiled, like she knew something he didn’t, and pointed upstairs.

He tossed the bourbon back, something nice like Blanton’s, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

“Have a good one, Raylan,” she said then led the whole bar in the chorus of _For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow_ accompanied by the house band.

When he came through the door, Boyd was standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall. 

Raylan thought he might find him naked or something with rose petals all over the floor, but he just had his sleeves rolled up and his collar buttons done all up like usual and he was smiling real soft at Raylan.

“Holy shit, darlin,” Raylan said, taking off his hat. “Did you tell them to--” but he couldn’t say any more because Boyd had moved in close and was kissing him, soft and sweet, then open-mouthed and long. He walked Raylan back down the hall and through to the little dining room. 

When they pulled away, Raylan looked down to see a fairly large spread on the table, a real southern meal. “You made me fried chicken and...okra?” He looked helplessly back at Boyd, who smiled sheepishly.

“I’m real glad you have such faith in my culinary skills, but no, baby, that was Ava because she loves me,” he winked then added, “And you. Think of it as her gift.”

“She brought it all the way up here?”

“Yesterday,” Boyd said. “I nuked it for you. And I bought you beer. Happy birthday.”

Raylan smiled. He pulled Boyd in again, drew his fingers across Boyd’s cheek and into his hair. “A fourth time,” he said. “I love it. Thank you, darlin’.” 

They ate and talked and laughed for a while, then went into the bedroom, leaving the dishes for the next day.

Boyd stopped next to the bedside table and picked up the cupcake he’d left there. Raylan looked down at it and crooked his smile. “I bet it’s all stale now,” he said.

“You already ate one today, didn’t you?” Boyd asked.

“Two actually,” Raylan replied and Boyd laughed, taking out his lighter.

He lit the candle and looked up at Raylan, meeting his eyes and sobering. “Make a wish, Raylan,” he said.

“I’ve already got everything I want,” Raylan said softly and blew it out. 

Then, he leaned in and kissed Boyd again. 

“What am I gonna give you, now, baby?” Boyd murmured to his lips.

“I don’t know,” Raylan said playfully, twining their hands together. 

“Anything you want.” Boyd pushed him onto the bed.

Raylan picked hand jobs right to the edge, then slow fucking. They kept their mouths together as they stroked each other, murmuring nothing at all to each other’s lips and in each other’s ears. When Raylan entered Boyd, he sunk his teeth into the thin skin at Boyd’s collarbone, stifling the cry that Boyd couldn’t. He took his time and made it last, because, forty years and all, he wouldn’t be coming again that night.

Boyd smiled up at him, dreamily, lovingly, and called him beautiful and other things Raylan barely believed, even after years of hearing them on his boy's lips. 

Raylan closed his fingers around Boyd’s hard, sensitive cock as he neared, feeling it rising up in him, tight, and so so good. Boyd clutched at his back, reaching down to his ass and pulling up, hard, insistent, “Come on,” he grunted and it sent Raylan right over and Boyd went right with him.

They ran their hands along each others skin after, like there were inches, millimeters, they hadn’t explored yet. They smiled real big and sleepy at each other and Boyd whispered, “Did you have a good one?”

“The best,” Raylan told him and meant it, really.

Boyd smiled, pleased, and said, “Happy Birthday, Raylan Givens.”


End file.
